


no one fix us

by Julx3tte



Series: sylvgrid week 2020 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (only four hands), But not real smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hands, So many hands, Sylvgrid Week (Fire Emblem), day 5 - reunion / hands, just M rated smut, you ever meet folk with the touch love language?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24568804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte/pseuds/Julx3tte
Summary: because paperpenpal and nicolewrites dared me and it was supposed to be something else and it turned into this and oh my godHalf undressed, he caught a glimpse of Ingrid, hands on the top of her legs, fingers rubbing her palms as if she was making sure they were all still connected.Suddenly, all the thoughts of the women he’d dated before disappeared.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: sylvgrid week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776286
Comments: 13
Kudos: 24
Collections: Sylvgrid week 2020





	no one fix us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicole_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/gifts), [sunnilee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnilee/gifts), [paperpenpal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/gifts).



Ingrid, watching Sylvain undress by the candlelight, stared at her hands.

They were back in her room at Garreg Mach, through fighting another battle, resting for a spell before their next campaign. She and Sylvain had a… tradition by now. This time, the professor put them in two different theaters. She hadn’t seen him in over a week, and their post-battle tradition was something she missed. 

That, and that they were the only two in the Blue Lions to ride mounts and use lances, and after weeks of battle, she was tired of the slow crawl of armored knights . 

The thing about using lances was, the calluses didn’t really form the same way an archer's fingers grew tough from pulling string, or a swordsman's thumbs held the blade against their palms, or an axe-wielder’s’ grips were iron.

She’d seen Felix’s hands, and Glenn’s - full of scars from being cut, from holding the handle so tightly that the leather on the grip tore into them. She wasn’t envious.

Her hands were still soft. She didn’t manicure them like the other girls - no need when she was constantly washing blood and dirt from her pegasus’ fur - but they were clean. Smaller than Sylvian’s but still plenty to swing Luin around.

It was good that the pointy tip of a spear was so far away from the grip. She didn’t need as much power to swing, and between the speed of her pegasus and the long arc, she could keep her distance from a lot of the worst of battle.

Though, tonight, she was hoping Sylvain wouldn’t be a spear’s length away.

\---

Sylvain learned about the difference in weapons the first time he dated another student from the monastery. She wanted to be a falcon knight - had cut her hair short and trained her grip every day so that her axe wouldn’t fall away when she flew. She crushed his hands every time he let her pin him to her bed; felt the pain of his palms being squeezed at the creases when she sang his name. 

They didn’t hold hands in public or anything like that, but it was like she didn’t know her own strength. Like holding onto him tightly was purposeful, strategic.

(Leave it to falcon riders to see sex that way.)

No, lancers were elegant and gentle.

Another date - a commoner from town that caught his eye the day Ingrid had cornered him about dating someone’s sister - loved the way Sylvain used his fingers for her. She complimented them, once, and he’d never been so self-conscious about something so mundane. She loved the way his nails pressed against the skin of her hips, digging in just enough to hurt. She tied her hair up when they met, a messy bun that fit right against Sylvain’s palms. 

He’d never been rough with her. Not like that - not during sex, not for his own sake. Sure he’d worked out all of his hurts by drowning himself in nights like that one, but it wasn’t fair to them to be so savage.

That, he saved for himself on the battlefield.

Half undressed, he caught a glimpse of Ingrid, hands on the top of her legs, fingers rubbing her palms as if she was making sure they were all still connected.

Suddenly, all the thoughts of the women he’d dated before disappeared. They hadn’t slept together enough for him to know what she enjoyed. He caught himself before he could dig too much deeper into what it meant that he was already thinking about what she might want to get out of sex.

This wasn’t just another night with a date. This was Ingrid - this was Ingrid after weeks apart, and he didn’t know why hands were on his mind but maybe slowing down tonight might be best.

\---

Sylvain crawled into the space next to her, and Ingrid found his hands and rubbed her thumb against his palm. 

His hands were clean and pale, though not as soft as hers. His fingers gripped around her thumb and his lips grazed her neck at the same time, and it was electric.

His breath was hot. Ingrid wasn’t sure what she loved the most - the fact that, even with her eyes closed, she could picture the look on his face as he laid kisses down the side of her throat, or that his other hand (the one not in hers) were already searching for her hip.

She liked the way he’d trail his fingers up her leg, a thumb press to the inside of her thigh, finger pads pressing to hold her and pull her to him, the pressure of his wrist against her hip bone.

Either way, it was heavenly that he knew without asking.

Things he’d observed, perhaps, or tried. She tried not to think about the times he spent with other women. They’d talked about it some, and let sleeping dogs lay at other times. Mostly, he talked about how easy it was to distract himself, pull himself away from what he really needed. She talked about how damn frustrating it was to see him not care so much about his body - especially while she was gently putting down arranged marriage after arranged marriage, and --

Sylvain bit her right above the breast and she yelped and lost all of her thoughts.

\---

Sylvain loved the way Ingrid’s gaze tracked along with whatever he was doing.

He put his mouth to her wrist and kissed it gently and saw her eyes open in recognition, her fingers squeezing on themselves as she blushed.

He paid his admiration through her palms, and on the back of each knuckle, and on her fingertips before Ingrid had enough. She pulled him to her by the hair.

“Sylvain, I want more,” she said.

He grinned and complied.

The only thing better than the way his hips rolled on hers, the way her breathy whispers graced his ears, the way she dug her face into his neck and clasped her arms on his back and clawed into him with her nails - was kissing her with his palm cupping her cheek.

Scratch that.

The best thing was the way her body writhed with excitement when the hand on her cheek followed a line down her neck, her collarbones, the swell of her breasts. The way her breathing stopped when he teased the peaks of them, lingering just enough for a promise.

The way her stomach - fit and slim despite the enormous amounts of food he’d seen her put away - rose and fell.

No, the best thing was the low groan when his fingers trailed lower and all of her attention was on his hand and her eyes shut tight to focus, to feel, to  _ feel _ . 

\---

Sylvain laid his head on her shoulder and promptly fell asleep - the rest of his body was curled around Ingrid’s. She was shorter, which made the sight of Sylvain’s legs drawn up against his torso and over her own legs even more amusing.

One of his arms was trapped helplessly between them, but the other arm’s hand had found where her neck and collar met and draped itself on the spot, providing a pleasant warmth and weight.

Finally close enough to see Sylvain’s hands without him moving them around, Ingrid noticed something peculiar.

On the palm side, each of his fingers looked more or less alike. But on his third finger, on the other side, was a band of skin more pale than the rest.

He’d probably tell her eventually, but for now, Ingrid let the thought of a ring on both of their hands lull her to sleep. There would be time for it in the morning. Tonight was for this. 

**Author's Note:**

> oh MY god 
> 
> i wrote a fic with just 1 line of dialogue, i am impressed


End file.
